Heresy
by OneWhoTurns
Summary: [One shot] "Empress Emily Kaldwin…" His voice was always that ominous drawl, as though the next sentence was sure to seal some dastardly fate. "I'm starting to worry for your sanity." - Emily decides there are better things to be engraved on whalebone than the symbol of the Abbey. [Tame Emsider. Mentions of Wyman.] Originally posted to tumblr.


She'd received the scrimshaw bracelet as part of a series of unwanted gifts from Whitecliff, supposedly meant to reinforce the bond between the Crown and the Abbey. More like a reminder that the Abbey was always watching. The bracelet was a series of six whalebone panels: four for the four isles of the Empire, one for the Abbey, one for the Crown. It was carefully and intricately crafted - she was sure whoever had made it must have spent months with fine delicate tools - each panel depicting a highly detailed scene specific to that facet of the Empire.

Emily ran her thumb over the panel meant to represent Gristol – a whale in a sling. A slaughterhouse, to represent her homeland. And of course next to it, on the panel representing the Crown: her face.

The juxtaposition made her ill.

The clearest and simplest panel held just the symbol of the Abbey, inlaid with golden foil.

The Abbey and the Crown, reigning over a capital city built on the bones of ten thousand whales and heretics.

She turned the bracelet over, placing it face-down on the vanity, refusing to let it sit with the rest of her jewelry. She had to destroy it. If she could, the first chance she got she would throw it in the ocean – send it back to the sea, back where it belonged, swimming in whale song. But she so rarely went to sea, and things tossed in the Wrenhaven had been known to surface at the most inopportune times. No, she had to keep it or destroy it completely.

Or…

Her eyes moved slowly from the bracelet to the hand that covered it, still cloaked in the thin silk gloves she'd been wearing ever since retaking the throne. Her lips tightened into a small spiteful smile. If the Abbey knew their own Empress was Marked… Not only that, had walked through the Void itself - had spoken to the Outsider (cryptic bastard though he may be) and saved his domain from a witch's conquest.

She pulled the gloves from her hands, letting out a slow relieved sigh, and began tracing the Mark. It was odd, almost primordial, but she liked it. It was beautiful in a very base, very primitive way.

…And she preferred it over the symbol of the Abbey any day.

With that thought she felt the small smile twist into a smirk. Oh yes, the Mark of the Outsider was a far better image to have engraved in whalebone.

* * *

It didn't take her long to gather the materials she'd need. Of course, Emily had always worked fast when the goal was vengeance (petty or otherwise).

The work would be done in the safe room, naturally – couldn't have anyone walking in on the Empress herself crafting blasphemous works.

The thought made her shoulders shake with a quiet huff of laughter as she picked up a paint brush, studying the Mark that graced her skin. No. No shaking, this was serious business. The business of apostasy. Serious indeed. Some would say treasonous.

The devilish smile stayed on her lips as she put brush to bone, transferring the Mark to the back of the bracelet panels - starting with that of the Abbey, naturally. After all, her portrait didn't really need one: she was Marked already.

"My dear High Overseer, I thank you so _so_ deeply for the gift." Her softly muttered words were dripping with sickly sweet mockery as her grin grew. "…Pompous prick." As she finished painting the first panel she paused for a moment, admiring her work with a steady eye and a murmured, "Not bad." She lifted the brush once more to start on a second panel.

"Playing at heresy, Your Imperial Majesty?"

Emily very nearly snapped the paintbrush in surprise as she stood swiftly, her Marked hand immediately tucked behind her.

But, of course, no servants would be walking in on her in the safe room. No, the only other person with a key was Corvo. And the only one who bore the distinct honor of going wherever he damn well pleased was the one standing before her now: the Outsider himself, looking down from the top of the stairs.

He was smirking almost as widely as she had been moments ago. As usual, Emily found herself (at least briefly) at a loss for words.

His head cocked to the side, the flick of his eyelids the only indication that his pitch-black eyes had moved at all. "No need to hide it, Empress. We're both well aware of your blasphemous little brand."

In a moment he'd disappeared from the stairs in a flurry of smoke and Void, and Emily felt a tug from behind her. She turned quickly, pulling her hand from his grasp, the Mark itching as though the skin itself was drawn to the embodiment of the Void.

"I can't admire my own handiwork?"

The skin he'd touched was thrumming. It was as though just her hand had been plunged into the Void, and the otherworldly sensation made her stomach drop. She hadn't experienced something like that in some time.

"Why are you here?" Her voice, as it always was whenever she worked up the nerve to speak to him, was low and direct – almost curt.

As if in answer, he turned his attention to the scrimshaw bracelet, turning it over with a delicate touch. "The Abbey of the Everyman…" His features took on the same spiteful gleam hers had at seeing the Abbey's symbol engraved on the whalebone. "…My nemeses."

She nearly snorted at the sarcasm in his voice, and his gaze shot to her with a satisfied smirk as she joined in on the wry joke, even as she fought not to roll her eyes. Cryptic as ever.

"I wonder what your 'dear High Overseer' would think of this little arts and crafts project."

Emily felt a shiver go through her at that. So he'd been listening. Just how long had he been watching her tonight?

"The Abbey always approves of a lady's busywork." Her voice was deadpan, but she couldn't help the twitch of her lips that hinted at her amusement.

"Of course," he agreed. "What is it they say?" Once again he was gone from her workbench, this time reappearing over her shoulder, voice close to her ear as he walked a semicircle around her. " _'Restrict the Restless Hands, which quickly become the workmates of the Outsider.'_ "

His words, delivered in a hiss that echoed through aeons, raised goosebumps on her skin. She felt momentarily breathless. No one made her feel like this. Ever. The closest she'd gotten was in the throes of passion with Wyman, when her breath had been all gasps and sighs – her eyes darted to the mattress in the corner, and she felt a small heat rising up her neck. No, it wouldn't do to think of that. Too much thought on her former lover turned her contemplative, and she needed her wits about her when dealing with the Outsider.

He was facing her again now. "Are you my workmate, Emily?" It was the closest she'd ever heard him get to teasing. She felt his eyes follow hers, spotting the mattress as well.

The flush on her neck continued to rise, and she was relieved when he made no comment. As he turned to survey the rest of the room, his smile more pronounced, she felt the immediate need to change topic. "Why are you here," she repeated bluntly – less of a question, more a demand.

He glanced to her before dissipating again, reappearing at her easel, where she'd most recently been working on a self-portrait. She wasn't particularly fond of it, but he seemed to look on it without judgment – at the very least, he said nothing scathing. From the way he tipped his chin as he looked, she almost thought he appreciated it. "Empress Emily Kaldwin…" His voice was always that ominous drawl, as though the next sentence was sure to seal some dastardly fate. "I'm starting to worry for your sanity."

She would've been startled, but his tone was wry. So instead she was annoyed. "Why," she repeated for the third time.

"Surely you knew what you were doing." The mock surprise in his voice - the smirk he couldn't hide - was met with her scowl. Another cloud of smoke and Void, and he was in front of her again, leaning back against the workbench. "You're the one who summoned me." His face turned to the tools still neatly arranged on the bench.

Realization dawned. "The bracelet." Of course. She'd basically been crafting a rune, in some ways. The thought made her relax for a moment, glad that she wasn't being conscripted to another deadly mission. And, admittedly, a little disappointed. Life in Dunwall Tower could be achingly dull.

He picked up the item in question, examining the Mark she'd transcribed. "It's good work."

Emily jumped as - once again - the Outsider appeared before her, grabbing her hand. This time, he held firm as she instinctively tried to withdraw, shooting her a quick admonishing look as he pulled her hand closer before leaning down to examine the Mark. She was instantly reminded of court. Of simpering kowtowing nobles and court etiquette. The way their lips would kiss her ring, honoring the Empire. Again, that warmth was spreading up her neck, her chest feeling flush and tight.

"A very near replica, I'd say." His words flowed in a breeze over her hand, and she flexed it in response. That earned her another quick glance, this one unmistakably amused. "I hope a shrine isn't to follow."

"It isn't," she assured him flatly. What was he doing? He hadn't dropped her hand yet, still in this supplicating pose, mocking an empress.

He held her gaze for one more second, and she felt his eyes drawing her into god knows where. It was unsettling… and entirely hypnotic. She couldn't look away if she tried. "Good." The word - spoken quietly, and more gently than she'd expected - broke like a wave over her skin, quickly followed by a lingering press of lips. Her mind was caught up in a rush of blood to the head, her heart suddenly in her throat. His eyes were no longer locked with hers, instead deferentially to the floor, but the spell stayed in place. She felt his lips curving into a smile as he murmured against her skin. "I hear they've been known to cause madness."


End file.
